HIMprov II : The Video Experience.

Ian, one of our camera guys, edited this really wonderful, raw video of the latest HIMprov performance. (Embedded viewers are at the bottom of this post.)

Some things you should know, before watching it...

First, it's bad improv. It's meant to be bad improv. Performed by the most dull, unimaginative people that we could conjure up. So, know that going in!
And enjoy the AMAZINGLY subtle performances that the group puts forward. There's a deep, abiding discomfort for all of the characters that's really wonderful to watch. Very subtle performances.

Second, my introduction as Pastor Bob, is meant to be the antithesis of improv show openings. It's boring, overly-long, and has these "jokes" sprinkled within that are not very funny. That's how Bob hosts. Sure, it's meant to be masturbatory. (For Bob. Not for me.)

Third, the tape fails to capture the abiding discomfort that the audience felt throughout the performance. It's Conflict-prov, meant to afect the audience in a way that they're not used to being affected emotionally. It's not a "laugh-riot" and by it's very nature, never CAN be one. But as quiet as they sound on the tape, we had that audience enthralled from start to finish. And they went NUTS when the show was over. The tape fades out, but they were cheering for the show, after it was over.

Fourth, at the beginning of the tape, the introduction dies out and nothing happens. For 32 seconds, the audience is left alone, unattended and un-entertained. Because we were busy in the wings, visible to the audience, praying.
Consequently, we cheerfully take the stage to absolute silence. They don't know if they're supposed to clap for us or not. And some of them are probably a little bit angry that the show has begun on a sour note.
Which makes my opening of "Thank Yeeeeeeeew" to a silence, hostile audience THAT MUCH FUNNIER.
(All of that was intentional, by the way. All part of the show.)

Fifth, the black audience member is also a plant.
His name is Parrish Morgan and he is a member of our little theater troupe. In our first show, back in January, Parrish played Jeremiah Washington, a very nice, smart young man who was tapped to play with this troupe. He figured out, half way through the show that they're all racists and genuinely don't like him or are scared of him and "quit" the show, in the middle of the last performance.
We love Parrish. We don't want his quitting the troupe to end his involvement with the shows. So, we developed a plotline for Jeremiah, that the audience will see played out, from show to show. He has become the "Ghost of Failures Past" for this little improv troupe. Always present in the front row, glowering, reminding them of how they screwed up in the past.
In THIS show, he surprised the troupe by showing up for their show and when his anger gets to be TOO MUCH for him, gets up and acts out at the show. It's him who puts the final shot down on Pastor Bob. Giving us our surprise ending.

There are some really funny moments on that tape.

I like John and Dave's Pornography scene. Looks to me, like an afterschool special.

I LOVE Erin Carr's heart-breaking portrayal of Tammy. She's a poor, wreck of a person. And how horrible is it that she's been ambushed by this terrible, terrible show. Erin evokes a real sense of Tammy's shame and anger. Another brilliant performance.

I also love the image of Ted, being drug out of the theater in his underwear. A BRILLIANT move by John, that left us with an indelible image. (We had a different exit planned for Ted, but I forgot about it and John brilliantly covered for us.)

The wrassling moment, when Ted is all over me, is also pretty great. Just what I wanted it to look like, a big, nearly naked man, clambering over a helpless, uptight, conservative relgious minister.

The cameras angles are very "rock concert" feelings. In that they are all over the place. Ed's camera is the pretty steady one. Ian's is literally all over the place, but he catches some really wonderful moments, like Ted boozing up backstage. Edited together, it gives you the same feeling of discomfort that you would've gotten from the show. Constantly shifting your attention from the "bad" improv onstage, to Ted and Tammy in the audience, to Jeremiah and me, downstage left.

I call it a VERY sucessful show.

We decided, after the show, that we're doing a show for EACH plotline of the individual characters. I don't want to drop too many details here, but there are some exciting plotlines for each character, which are hinted at, in every show. Each character will get a show where they step forward and confront their personal demons, under the spotlight of these little improv shows, in front of a paying audience, when the pressure is on!

We're also adding two more cameras for the next show, making it a 4 shoot camera event. So the next video should be just as good. It should capture even more of the action from even more angles. I'll be sure to post it here, when it gets posted online.

In His Name,
Mr.B

Here's the Video Introduction, that John Jensen whipped up for us...



And here's the actual show itself (watch it all the way through, kiddies. There's surprises in the end of the show.)



Much thanks to Ian for camerawork and the editing job, to Ed for the camerawork and to John for the brilliant opening.

Legacy.

Today, in what I would consider to be a fairly tasteless photo op, the president took a forty foot jog, around a running track at the White House with Christian Bagge, a 23 year old, double amputee who lost both legs in Iraq.
The president and Bagge stopped briefly, half way on the jog to chat with reporters. The president confessed that when he met Bagge in the hospital and Bagge suggested that they might go jogging together, the president honestly didn't believe that the young man would ever leave the hospital bed. Being a good sport, though, he didn't bust the young vets bubble and agreed to the run.
Which finally took place today.



What they talked about for the larger part of the run, can only be speculated at...

Bush - "You ready, Bagge?"

Bagge- "Yes sir, Mr. President."

Bush - "Listen, before we go, two things! One, don't beat me out there. The terrorists would be emboldened, if they saw the American President being outrun by a handicapped guy. So, hold it back a bit, okay? I'm not as fast on my feet as I used to be."

Bagge - "Uh. yes. Yes sir, Mr. President."

Bush - "The other thing is when we get to the reporters, let me do all the talking. I've got a lot of enemies in Washington and they'd love to twist your words against me. So, let me address the press."

Bagge - "No problem, sir."

Bush - "Okay, let's race! We start on the count of 3. Ready? ......1!....." (immediately begins running) "2,3!"

Bagge begins the long laborious jog on his running prosthetics, resigned to lose to the president. Bush takes a distant lead, but is advised in his earpiece that he should slow down and actually run with Bagge. They make idle chat as they get up to the reporters.

Bush - "So, did it hurt, gettin' yer legs blown off."

Bagge - "Yes sir. It was .... (uh).... terribly painful."

Bush - "I bet. I saw thet movie, Misery, where that fat lady takes a sledge hammer to Robert Duvalls ankles? That's gotta hurt."

Bagge - "Actually, I think it was Jimmy Caan..."

Bush - "My legs hurt. All the time. I'm gettin' older and my knees are going out. That's why I bicycle these days, instead of jogging. I haven't jogged in a year or so. You ever think of biking?"

Bagge - "Yes, yes I do. I just haven't tried it since the accident."

Bush - "It's good for your knees."

Bagge - "Well, I only have the one now."

Bush - "Here we go, Press Time! Just you let me handle it. "

Bush and Bagge briefly meet with the press. Bush admits that he never seriously thought Bagge would ever run again. They pet Bush's dog. And resume their run.

Almost immediately, Bush turns to Bagge and confides in him.

Bush - "Listen, Eric. This has been swell, but I've got to get back to some presidential stuff. Do you mind finishing the run with one of my aides?
Come on over here, buddy. Eric, this is Eric. Hey, you two fellas got a lot in common! He'll finish the run with you. Treat him like he's me. Anything you want to say to me, say to Eric. And he'll type it up and present it to me, later. Anything he says, you can take from me. Just don't repeat it to the press or I'll have you sued. Ha ha! Just kidding. Not really though. Loose lips!Thanks for fighting for your country and for not being a big crybaby about your legs and stuff."

The president hops into a waiting golf cart and whizzes away. The page, a portly Jewish kid, with sweat streaming down his face, wearing a blue dress shirt, conservative tie and slacks, joins Bagge to complete the run. Bagge, frustrated, but unable to express it in front of the cameras, stares straight ahead, focusing on the end of the run.

Bagge - "My name's not Eric. It's actually Christian Bagge."

Page - "My name's not Eric, either. It's Wally."

And they run the rest of the jog in silence, punctuated by Wally's ragged gasps for breath and the clickety-clack of Bagge's prosthetics running on the tarmac.



Today, under a cloudy Washington sky, President Bush provided a handy visual aide for those interested in visualizing his presidential legacy.

A few updates...

First, the HIMprov show was a complete, unrivaled, successful disaster. Just as we'd planned it to be.

At a few points, I was so upset by all of the chaos (which we'd planned) that I actually felt emotionally anxious and disturbed. There were three separate train wrecks happening in three different areas of the theater and I was helpless to stop any of them at all. (Or rather, my character was.) Which left ME, actually feeling upset and unable to deal with what was happening.
Eventually though, the plan kicked in gear and it all happened according to plan. A nearly nude Dave Whalley tackled me and beat me senseless and then was dragged out the front door by John Jensen. And our angry, black activist, former member kicked me in the balls, signaling the blackout.
When the lights came up, our audience screamed at us. Not cheered. Cheering and applause sounds like something else. This was more of a shocked, angry, unhappy noise that came out of them. A few of the girls from "The Missfits" actually cheered "AMEN!" for us. So, that felt pretty good.
Once again, when we got outside, we just stood there giggling and checking in with each other. Once again, we did a HIMprov show and once again everything went intentionally wrong. Which is a difficult thing to be excited/pleased about. But we laughed and giggled and pointed out the best parts that we saw. And then went to the Town Hall and laughed about it some more. My good friend, Matt Rossi, came to the show and he had some brilliant perspectives on the show from the audiences view. He said he was "expecting something uncomfortable, but NOTHING as horrible as what actually happened." Expectations exceeded.

Was it funny? Sure. What's NOT funny about a drunken, angry, nearly-nude man tackling a minister and pummeling them?
But it was also horrible and uncomfortable and a bloody chaotic mess. (Did I mention that we had plants in the audience, who interacted with the characters? Or that we had a camera crew filming the whole thing, intentionally obstructing the audiences views?)

My camera guys and I reviewed some of the footage at the Town Hall Bar. It looked remarkably good. Very guerilla theater. Strange lighting configurations and a weird mix of backstage and onstage action. They said that they can get both tapes edited together by the end of this week and will even upload it onto YouTube. So, look for a video link sometime soon.

Second, I might've spoken prematurely about "this new girl thing." This might not work out, after all. Our emails after our first, great night together have been tentative and pretty lackluster. She seems to have checked out already, before a second meeting can occur. I've been pleasantly welcoming and absolutely light about scheduling time with her. But she's either very busy or looking to avoid me.
She's not available to get together at all, this week. Or this weekend.
She cancelled on the movie on Friday night.
She hasn't looked ahead to find a night when we might get together.

So, Message Received. I'm backing off. I sent her the "I'm not saying this blatantly, but I'm letting you know that I'm Backing Off, pursue if you want to. No Pressure" email to her today.

Who knows what she's thinking, on the other side of the screen?
Maybe she was a little intoxicated on Saturday and THAT'S why she was as flirty as she was...
Maybe there's some other guy that I don't know about...
Maybe she's a covert Super-spy and she wants to be with me, but can't, in order to protect my life...

Whatever the reason, I've released the very slight hold I had on her. I've left things in her corner, "Hey no worries. Why don't you give me a ring when you find some free time. I'd love to spend some time with you, whenever. Just let me know. Cheers, Mr.B" Maybe we move forward. Maybe we don't. It's her call to make.

So, that's a small disappointment. But after a single night together with her, I didn't have TOO MUCH invested in it. So, the loss doesn't cut too deeply.

Third, I have a post about Orangutans and a Robbery to offer up here. SOMEBODY is waiting to hear about that. I need to get on that. I'll try to post it later today.

Fourth, Me. Superman. My Mom. The three of us have a date for Friday night. I can't wait. THIS is a social occasion, that I've been looking forward to for two months now. Can't wait for it to get here.

Fifth, Still need to resolve MOVE stuff.
I've GOT TO get the last of my stuff out of that old apartment.
And I've GOT TO resolve major telecommunications issues with the new apartment. (Can't get satellite TV again, until the landlord can make some time to come walk the property with me. There is LITERALLY no working phone jack in the entire apartment. I know. I tried them all yesterday.)
So, THAT'S going to be fun.
No email in the apartment, until I get all of that resolved. No ipod. No bit torrent downloading. No Internet Porn! (I've had to use my fucking imagination. LITERALLY!)AND it's going to cost somebody some cash to get all of that done. I'd LOVE for it to come from the new landlord.

So, that's where my head is, these days.

Some joys.
Some sadness.

So much to do.
So little time.

HIMprov Returns! ("The Last Temptation of Ted St Claire!")

As you may or may not know, I have a side project Improv team, called HIMprov. We present an improvised, Christian-themed improv show, with ALL of our scenes based upon the philosophies of the Chick Tracts and the teachings of Jack Phelp's Kansas-based "God Hates Fags" church. We aren't trashing all Christians or even Christianity. We're actively trashing Religious Extremists and Intolerance.

We've created an entirely fictional church. We all have alter egos in the church. And we all have a history of unpleasantry that has made us vulnerable to the church's influence. Alcoholism. Homelessness. Drug Use. Sexual Perversity. Suicide. All of these things are in the past lives of our HIMprov troupes members.

But now they've found the Lord and the Army of Christ Church (1st Battalion). They've found my character, Pastor Bob, who subtly manipulates them into living at the compound and shunning the modern world, in favor of hard-core, religious worship and study.

As part of the church's OutReach Program, the youth minister, Nick, has begun booking these performances of a "Faith-based" Improv performance. A way of sharing the church's philosophies that are funny and fun! He's hooked up with one of the church's musicians, Darren, and they perform actual Christian Songs in the shows, to keep things light.

And it HAS to be kept light, because these guys are presenting the most painfully, un-subtle, agenda-driven, wooden, dry improv, a Chicago stage has ever seen. They do "NO OBJECT WORK" because that would be "worship of a false idol". So, they can't touch or interract with anything that isn't there. They are NOT performers and their characterizations are boring, dull and lifeless. And to make matters worse, they simply DON'T understand improvizational conventions that we take for granted. (The introductions are all wrong, they take too long, they break character to squabble onstage and they allude to the fact that all of these scenes are pre-rehearsed.) In short, they're terrible.

And they don't know it.

And in this way, do we slyly send up the Extremist Right Wing, Politically-Driven Fundamentalist Christian Groups. So terrible to watch, and so oblivious to how their agenda makes them intolerable.

If this entry has sold you on the show, you can check it out tomorrow night, at 9pm at The Playground Theater. Admission is $5. Tell anyone you know of, who might want to sit through a particularly painful trainwreck.

We've removed the brakes from the Holy Train, and the tracks go right into town, and we're high, high, high up on the hill. Tomorrow, at 9pm, we release the clutch and see how much damage she can do, when she's released into the town, going as fast as gravity can get her to go!

It should be brilliantly bad!

Cheers,
Pastor Bob

News. Of a Sort.

Dig the sly post title. Just in case the person who this is about, actually ends up reading this blog, someday, hopefully this post will slide on by, unnoticed.

I met a girl.

Sort of.

Well, definitely, in that I DID meet her. And we've got plans to see each other this weekend. (And she wants to see me tonight, but I've got a rehearsal scheduled with The Lord.) But "sort of" in that it's still a very new thing and I don't know where it's going to go.

I met her at the Burlesque show on Saturday. She was an audience member, there to see her friend, Michelle L'Amour, performing in the show. Her group got to the theater late and I nearly wasn't able to seat them. I had 4 open seats and they had 9 bodies. I grabbed stools and a chair from the booth, to make room for them.

After the show, she came up to me and thanked me for the kind consideration. She was grateful that they were able to get into the show. I assured her that it was no problem, and removed from the confines of the show, out of character, I was nervous about the attention I was getting from this very pretty girl. She had such a lovely smile and her eyes were so alive and smart.
I invited her to the bar, for an after show cocktail. She checked with her group and they okayed the deal and she said that she would meet us there. She asked for directions. Going back to talk to her friends, I caught the girls that she was with, smiling at me, from a distance. I had their approval for something exciting that was on the way.

As luck would have it, one of our audience members had himself a little involuntary, gastro-intestinal convulsions and spewed what looked like partially digested Thai (with egg noodles) all over the men's room sink, floor, wall and toilet. I knew, without even asking that it was going to be MY job to clean it up. I passed all of my normal aftershow duties to Hendo and Greg Inda, pulled on latex gloves, grabbed a small truckload of papertowels and spray on cleaners, pulled my bandana over my nose and mouth and went to work. Twenty minutes later, I had a spotless bathroom, but it delayed my getting to the bar.

Which ended up NOT being a problem, as she was still there. She made her way over to me and joined me and my bartender, Sammy, for a shot of chilled vodka. Other people floated around us and chatted at me, but for all I knew, she and I were alone. We talked for an hour straight. And the more I heard from her, the more I liked what I heard. She reads comic books, people. On her own. She loves FABLES and Neil Gaiman. She hated XMen3, but is looking forward to Superman. She INVITED ME TO COME TO WIZARD WORLD (a comic book convention) WITH HER!!! I proposed marriage to her, on the spot.

Instead, she agreed to a date with me on Friday. She's going to see Superman Returns with me and as fate would have it, my MOM is going to be there. I already forewarned her of that. She didn't seem distressed by that.

After we closed the bar down, she invited me to join her friends for a late, late dinner (3pm) at Nookies. They'd all been out drinking all night long and wanted some solid food in their bellies. I had a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of milk. (Nothing too heavy that late at night.) Her friends were really nice (all of the girls were her co-workers, they sell expensive soap and cleansing materials in Lincoln Park). They welcomed me to the table and I made small talk and little jokes. They treated me like a little bit of a celebrity, for having JUST been in the show that they'd just seen. I've heard about people experiences where improvisers are occasionally treated like celebrities, but this was my first taste of it.

All throughout the meal, I would look over at this amazing girl, this smart, articulate, charming, attractive girl and marvel at her. She would catch me looking at her and smile back at me, as if she's always known me and absolutely agreed with me in what I was thinking. And what I was thinking was "This is going to be very, very good."

I don't know where she came from.
I don't know what I might've done to deserve her attention.
But I am determined not to make the same mistakes that I've made in my recent relationships.

I'll chill with the heavy stuff.
I'll be less suspicious and protective of my vulnerabilities.
I'll silence my anxieties.
I'll give her more attention than I've given past girlfriends. Which might mean fewer theater projects, but then a life lived well is infinitely more rewarding than a show well produced.
I'll take the exploration of sex slowly and without expectations.
I'll get to know her well before we make that particular leap together.
I'll be patient and understanding and explore every other, possible avenue, before I allow a fight to break out. Patience. Understanding. I need to remember these things.
And I will begin with the premise that this girl, this normal, human girl with normal, human neurosis, might just be, the love of my life. (And not the temporary phase that I assume most relationships to be.)

Her name is Kelly. She's 25. And I'm afraid that I'm already terribly fond of her.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some sit-ups to get started on.

About 5 million of them.

Ripples.

Yesterday, I remembered this story and how I wanted to share it with you here, but have never gotten around to posting it. Today, I rectify that error and post it for you...

I discovered this short story a few years ago (2004? 2005? I can't remember.) I was Googling my name (who doesn't?) and I came upon an interesting link.

There was a website for a Florida Summer Theater Camp program, that was using my name in one of their warm-up games. Apparently, they were playing "Bippity, Bippity, Bop", which I learned back in 2002 from IO, only the Floridians were calling it "Biddle Biddle Bop." Other than that change and their addition of a "mermaid" and "elephant" level of play, it was precisely like the version of "B.B.Bop" that I'd learned and had taught countless times.

And then I remembered that at my old high school, South Oldham High in Crestwood Ky, a couple of the kids in my weeklong improv intensive created their own variations on the "truck driver" rule. One of them was the "elephant" that the website listed.

I snooped around on the Florida website a little more and eventually found the name of one of my former students from SOHS working with the organization. A direct link from my Improv classes to this group. I suspected that it was her, who suggested that the title of the game might be called "Biddle Biddle Bop". I imagine that she couldn't remember the words that we actually used and substituted my name instead.

And so, students in this particular Floridian Drama Summer Program learn a game from IO, that now has my name in it. I'm waiting for the day that I meet one of them who moves to Chicago to pursue improv study and they say, "Your last name is Biddle? We learned this game back at Drama Camp that goes..."

I've been performing Improv, since my sophomore year of high school. That was 1990.
I joined my first professional, paying improv troupe the next year, 1991.
I taught my first improv class in my own high school in my senior year, 1992.

And I've taught countless classes since then, to a variety of classes, theaters and students. Fifteen years now, of study, teaching and performing this particular, little niche artform.

I am always aware when I am teaching, that I am dropping pebbles into a body of water that is vastly larger than me. I watch the ripples go outward and to my eyes, lessen and fade away. Very shortly, I can't see them at all.

But they don't stop. Not entirely.

They keep on going, bumping up against other ripples and creating new ripples that radiate out from them. Removed from me, my students have students of their own and in such a way, the improv philosophy that I believe in, is passed from person to person. A small legacy that I am building, which I guess, supercedes the legacy that I would've had, if I'd fathered a child or done something of actual some value.

It's just very unusual for one of those ripples to bounce back and to return to me, altered by its' journey and in this very rare instance, bearing my name. It's a sublime and rare joy to be in a position to know of this.

And now I'm telling you and you can enjoy this pleasure, with me.

Cheers,
Mr. B



For proof of what I'm talking about, you can see the notes on Biddle, Biddle Bop by clicking here and scrolling down.

I'm Somebody Else right now.

Jesus, how does a week goes by without an entry from me?

Blame the move and my lack of internet access at home. And the two days spent in Cleveland last week. And the recent robbery. And the even more recent convention. And my time spent with the Orangutans. Combine them all together and you can see why I've felt like I'm living someone else's life right now. Something entirely foreign to my own life.

And it creeps out in weird ways. I sleep on a futon now, even though a perfectly good bed is loaded (albeit undressed) in my own bedroom. I play Morrowwind obsessively. There's no tv to watch. I unpack at a lackadaisical pace. I call people all the time on my cell, just to reconnect with my old life.

Yesterday, I bought a shower liner.

The day before that, I bought nails and lightbulbs. I need more lightbulbs. I'll probably get them this weekend.

Tomorrow, I need to buy new knobs for the shower. The old ones are literally falling off.

I left an odd assortment of things back at my old apartment. A kitchen full of food, all of my shampoo and toiletries (I'm using my travel toiletries and Joe's shampoo). I left all of my CDs behind (which sucks, being as the computer is currently unhooked up), because I left the computer desk behind, as well.

Which reminds me, eventually, I'll need a long extension cord, another box fan and some Christmas lights. I'll wait until December to buy the lights.

I ordered a pizza on Sunday night, starving and grocery-less. And I've been eating it cold, since I left the microwave back at the old apartment, too.

I sit quietly on the trains to and from work, because the ipod has lost it's charge and it's sitting in my coat pocket, back at the old apartment anyways. No Howard Stern for me.

I have no satellite service. I read DEADWOOD episode recaps on Television Without Pity. I know CRAZY shit happened last week. But I haven't seen it, for myself.

I have superheroes in City of Heroes who are wondering where the Hell I've been. They're ITCHING to fight crime again.

Today, I wandered around in a bookstore, desperate for a good book to hide in, while I transition between lives. A nice, vivid, thick fiction to get lost in. Of course, I didn't find anything that interested me. I found an old copy of last weeks Reader in an otherwise empty paper dispenser and I read that on my quiet lunch break.

But all of these irregularities to my normally, very ordered life are all temporary. This was a good move. I gain more real estate, a good friend for a roommate and a considerably lower rent. Maggie gets windows and sunlight again. And space to stretch out in. And a buddy to have around the house, when I'm away. All of these long term pleasures gained in exchange for temporary inconvenience.

Temporary Discorporation.
Odd Sleep Habits.
Strange Dreams.
Irregular Sex Cycles.

If you see me zoning out a lot these days, this is why. I'm Somebody Else, for the next few weeks. I am working on relearning how to be myself, again.

Cheers,
Mr. B

Common People.

What's that you say?

You'd like to see a live performance of Shatner, Ben Folds and Joe Jackson performing "Common People" on the Jay Leno show?

Here ya' go!



You can thank me later.

Mr. B.

Pick Up Shows!

I've had a lot of Pick Up shows recently and I have to tell you, I like it!

For those of you who aren't theater-nerds, a "Pick-Up Show" is when a team or a group of improvisers have a show scheduled and for some reason, their roster is light on performers. The available performers call their friends and colleagues to come "pick up" the show and perform with them. Usually, they perform under another name, so as not to confuse their fans.

Because someday, in theory, an improv team might be good enough to actually attract fans.

Anyways, I've had a rash of Pick-Up Shows recently and I really like that.

I play with SassyPatch on some late Saturday nights, semi-regularly. We perform Adult-Oriented Improv, which is to say that we perform a normal improv show, but we try, if we can to logically hump one another onstage whenever we can. We also use a lot of profanity and discuss sex and sexuality and sex and sex. That's the show where you might see Mark Henderson running around with his shirt off. And nobody needs to see THAT.

Last Friday, I had a Pick-Up Show with Rene Duquesnoy and some folks from DSI. I'd had a really good day and was feeling CRAZILY funny. I ran all over that show, working my ass off out there, playing as aggressively as I could. And with only 4 people in the show, you almost HAD to play hard. I had a great time playing with Rene and Justin and Meredith. It was a blast.

Tonight, I'm performing a 3 man show. Me and Kathy Betts and Kyna Lenhof. I think that Kyna booked the show, but forgot to get a cast set up. So, Kathy was calling me to see if I could play. I told her that I would. So, it'll be just me and the girls up there. 3 man show means, work hard and edit frequently and don't ever, ever relax. So, that's what I'm looking forward to.

I like being the guy that people call, if they need to add some players to the show.
I like to think that it means that they really want to play with me, but just haven't found the right show or team to make that happen consistently.
While I might not have been on their mind when they originally cast the show, I'mon their mind now. And they've picked me as the guy that they'd like to play with, with a moments notice.

It implies a level of trust there that I genuinely appreciate.

So, yes, if you end up at Ginger's Ale House tonight and you see a funny fat guy up there improvising his ass off with two pretty ladies, it might just be me. Buy me a drink! I'll need it.

Cheers,
Mr. B

Scheduled.

I can't remember what it was like to NOT live by my Daily Planner.

To have a day or several days where I had nowhere to be, no obligations to keep, no responsibilities.
Where I could sleep late or stay up until the wee hours of dawn, if I wanted to.
Where I could nap whenever I wanted to.
And eat any sort of crap that I wanted to.

I know of places in this world, where the residents have specifically arranged their lives in such a way that they don't have to deal with the sorts of schedules that I keep. Their homes, which they built or their fathers built, exist in green places, located down hills and windy, twisty asphalt roads. They have creeks nearby and a lake where you can go skinny dipping, if you want to. And if modesty overcomes you, you can pile the lakebed mud over your unmentionables and hide them in that way. (I've lost entire conversational threads, willing a mud brazziere to slide off, using only the hot sun and my mind powers. Eventually, it did.)

A place where you see cows and horses more often than the mailman.

And the people who live there are good people.

They take care of their finances and their responsibilities. They mend their homes when they need to. They remember birthdays and anniversaries. They garden. They'll be the first one to pack the pipe for you and give you a comfortable seat on their front portch, if you want it.

They don't live a life that is as packaged, processed and marketed as you and I live and yet, they do it with pride. They are happy people. This busy, fast, loud, self-important world is irrelevant to their lives.

I am, of course, speaking of friends that I made back in the green hills of Kentucky.

Good people who showed me what a starry night looks like without ambient light off of a city blocking them out. (The Milky Way is visible to the naked eye in those times.)

I have a sinking suspicion that they've got something figured out that I haven't grasped yet.

Scribble

Working in PAINT, I was disappointed to discover that an Image that I'd taken a few days ago was gone. Out of frustration, I starting swinging the black pencil icon around on the middle of the screen.

The random swoops and swirls appeared to look like something to me. So I switched colors and added more scribbles and swirls and lo and behold, an image appeared.

This is what I ended up drawing.



I actually like it. I like the sloppiness of the lines. Despite them, there's a coherent image there.

I don't think that if I'd started out with the intention of drawing this picture, I would've found something that I enjoyed as much as I enjoyed this.

31 years old and I still enjoy scribbling on things. Even computer things...

Cheers,
Mr. B

Watch this video: Shatner!

It's Shatner, performing Sinatra's "It Was A Very Good Year" on the Dinah Shore show from the 70's. Straight out of his "monologues as music" years. Amazing(ly bad.)

2 Very Important Lists.

A List Of Things That Scare Me...

Flesh Eating Bacteria
"Greys" / Alien Abduction
Ghosts
Shark/ Alligator attacks
Snakes Going Into Your Mouth or Anus
Jail time
Rejection
Isolation
The Ocean
Kidney Stones
Bowel Blockage
Morbid Obesity
Heart Attacks
Really Bad Car Accidents
Strokes
Zombies
Spider bites
Bad Breath


A List Of Things That DO NOT Scare Me...
(But that used to).

Clowns
The Millenium Bug
Nostradamus
Terrorist Attacks
End of the World Prophecies
Atomic War
Old Churches or Graveyards
God
Dogs
Muggers
Roller Coasters
Black People
Serial Killers
Being in a Dark Place
That Ring of Light that Sometimes Surrounds the Moon
Anything Living in My Closet
Being Fired From A Job
Dancing In Public
Movie Monsters
Homeless People
Sex
New York City



Jesus! They're looking right at you! Run Away! Run Away! Flee! Flee!

Up and Down with Maggie.

Such a funny night of sleep last night for me and Maggie. The weather is cooler these days. We've been leaving the window open and left a fan running while we slept. It makes for comfortable sleeping. Last night it was 68 degrees in the bedroom, so we were both very happy, sleepy dogs.

Maggie, however, is a restless sleeper. Or maybe I am the restless sleeper and she's just frequently woken up by my rolling and tumbling, in the night. Either way, I don't usually wake up until she's climbing out of bed, to go sleep on the couch. She makes a slow, clamber right over my back and ass and legs and then slowly jumps down off the bed. And I listen to her clip clap her way onto the couch. And then I go back to sleep...

I wake up again when she climbs back into bed with me. Same pathway, right over my back, over to the corner of the bed. I claimed the outside edge of the bed for myself. She gets the other side. I've even constructed a nest for her, in the pillows. She does two or three turns around, until her big, warm, furry backside is pressed against me and she snuffles off to sleep again.

Sometimes I wake up at night to hear her quietly snoring next to me, like an old woman. More of a raspy wheeze than an actual snore. It's adorable.

Last night, however, we broke from the pattern. Maggie was woken up by my shifting around in the bed, seeking out the cools spots on the mattress (and the underside of the pillow). She climbed over me again, only this time, I was laying on my back. I grabbed her up suddenly and pulled her up to me and held her on my belly and petted her for a while. I rubber her ears and her long sleek body. I kissed her on her soft, doggy nose and she nuzzled her snout against my cheek. I scratched her back slowly and gently and she seemed confused by all of the late night attention. I saw her head raising up, trying to figure out why she was woken up and loved up, all of the sudden. I released her and she crawled off of me and delicately jumped down off the bed and clip clapped her way onto the couch to sleep. I could hear her in the other room, sighing largely, a very happy dog.

I won't always have Maggie. Or maybe someday, she will lose me. But what value does a father/child, owner/pet relationship have, if it isn't expressed with the infrequent, moments of attention and love, freely given. She gives me attention and love all the time. It's nice to be able to return the favor to her, once and a while. While we still can.

That was my night.
How was yours?

Mr. B.

My Fictional MySpace Page...

I don't actually have a MySpace page.
I don't think I have time for that and for maintaining this blog. So, I'm foregoing the creation of a MySpace page for the time being. (Maybe I'll do one someday. But probably not...)

Anywho, I had a thought today that I might like to create one for a fictional character and maintain that. Specifically, I think I'd like to create one for Gozer the Gozarian from the movie "Ghostbusters."

The movie is over twenty years old, so I doubt that anyone else has registered Gozer as an entity on MySpace right now. It's just not as current a character. And I doubt that it has ocurred to anyone else to maintain a presence for Gozer on MySpace. What use would a Pan-Dimensional DemiGod have for the quirky, very-much Earth driven functions of a MySpace page?

But I'd kinda like to know what sort of music Gozer listens to.

What song would he/she put on his/her cover page?

And whether he/she is single and what he/she is looking for in a partner.

I'd like to know his/her likes (torture, pan-dimensional destruction, marshamallows) and her dislikes (People from New York, Proton Particle Beam Emitters, Hellhounds that shed all over the couch.)

And most of all, I'd like to read his/her blog. I'd like to read Gozer's triumphs and disasters finding love. I'd like to know about the other dimensions that he/she has successfully conquered, failed to conquer or started to conquer but gave up because it really wasn't worth it. Being the absolute ruler of many worlds and times has to have similarities to other jobs. Sure, it starts out exciting with the genocides and the worshipping of the masses, but I'm sure that eventually the more annoying aspects of the job wear you down. Like Annoying Co-Workers That You Want To Dissolve Into Nothingness, But Don't and Returning to a Dimension to Conquer it Only To Find Out That You Already Conquered It Last Millenia and Weight Gain and Loss. These are the entries that I'd love to read.

Or write.

But who has time for all of that?

Someone else.

Someone else go out and make up a MySpace page for Gozer the Gozarian and make it as funny as I imagine it being and I promise to check it every day.

Cheers,
Mr. B

A Little Joke...

I can remember a little joke from my Level 1 class at IO, from the Spring of 2001, that made my teacher, TJ Jagodowski, laugh out loud.

In a personal monologue, I confessed the following...

"On Tuesdays, when it's free, I like to go to the Chicago Art Institute and wander around looking at the paintings. I don't know if it's because I actually enjoy looking at the paintings or because I am desperate for someone to see me walking around enjoying the paintings."*

Nobody else in class laughed at that, but TJ did and I'll never forget the sense of accomplishment that gave me.
5 years later, I can still remember where I was standing on the Del Close stage, and where his laugh came from, out in the house.

Nostaligic,
Mr. B

*That's entirely true, by the way, I did used to go to the Free Tuesdays at the museum and look at the art for both reasons, actually.